Perhaps he had lost his skill.
Perhaps it was merely the world-old difference in babies.

At all events, this infant did not care for jerks and jounces, and showed it plainly by emitting loud and yet louder wails of rage--wails in which his brother on the couch speedily joined.
"Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush--_confound it_, HUSH, I say!" exploded the frightened, weary, baffled, distracted man, picking up the other baby, and trying to hold both his sons at once.
Billy hurried forward then, tearfully, remorsefully, her face all sympathy, her arms all tenderness.
"Here, Cyril, let me help you," she cried.
Cyril turned abruptly.
"Thank God, _some_ one's come," he groaned, holding out both the babies, with an exuberance of generosity.

"Billy, you've saved my life!" Billy laughed tremulously.
"Yes, I've come, Cyril, and I'll help every bit I can; but I don't know a thing--not a single thing about them myself.

Dear me, aren't they cunning?
But, Cyril, do they always cry so ?" The father-of-an-hour drew himself stiffly erect.
"Cry?
What do you mean?
Why shouldn't they cry ?" he demanded indignantly.

"I want you to understand that Doctor Brown said those were A number I fine boys! Anyhow, I guess there's no doubt they've got lungs all right," he added, with a grim smile, as he pulled out his handkerchief and drew it across his perspiring brow.
Billy did not have an opportunity to show Cyril how much or how little she knew about babies, for in another minute the maid had appeared with the extra nurse; and that young woman, with trained celerity and easy confidence, assumed instant command, and speedily had peace and order restored.
Cyril, freed from responsibility, cast longing eyes, for a moment, upon his work; but the next minute, with a despairing glance about him, he turned and fled precipitately.
Billy, following the direction of his eyes, suppressed a smile.